The Concert

Part 30

An arm is thrown over me and I am drawn to Kota's waist. I don't want to risk waking him by turn my head to look at him. The inside of my mouth is bleeding again. It hasn't stopped. Probably due to how I'm always chewing on it.

The slight pressure my teeth exert keeps me just uncomfortable enough. I can't risk falling asleep again. My nightmares leave me too vulnerable.

I should leave a note and call a ride. They're only being nice because they feel guilty. I think they know about my father. At least Victor knows. Mr. Blackbourne told them. It was none of his business.

I can't really complain though, can I? My father is gone. The only thing I have to worry about is my mother, the random cameras, the press, school, concerts, and not dying. I can handle this.

The grandfather clock chimes four times.

Focus on the porch light. Don't let my eyelids close. This is when coffee would come in handy.

Five chimes now.

I only have to make it two or three more hours, I can do this. Clench my fists. Dig my nails into the crescent-shaped scars that are now permanent. I do this all too often.

I don't have to wait as long as I expected. Kota begins to stir behind me. Based on the light coming through the blinds, it's half past five. I squeeze my eyes shut as he stands. Quieter than I believed possible, he pads to the kitchen.

I push the blanket off of myself and make my way to the kitchen.

Kota jumps, placing a hand over his heart. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" I shake my head, "I'm always up early."

It's not a lie. Very seldom do I have to chance to sleep in past seven. Lately it hasn't been too bad, but in the spring I was overloaded with concerts. I was doing at minimum three a week and father never allowed me to repeat set lists.

"Since you're up, want to talk about last night?" Not really. I shrug, ideally he'd drop it. I don't get that vibe from him though. He gestures for me to start talking.

"It was just a nightmare. Doesn't matter." He captures my chin, drawing my eyes to his. I hadn't realized that I was avoiding eye contact. "Do you have nightmares often?"

"Sometimes," times like these I'm glad I can twist the truth.

"How often is sometimes?" He can see straight through me, "Every night?" I nod and avert my eyes.

"What was it about?" I shudder as I recall the dream. It is one I have often. I'm just glad it wasn't my other regular dream, that one is much worse. He takes my hand into his, his thumb rubbing circles.

"It was nothing. Doesn't matter. It's over now." If only. Not even sleep offers an escape from my reality.